


Difficult Conversations

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éomer is curious about Faramir's intentions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difficult Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ribby for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for the 2008 Halloween Exchange at sons_of_gondor, for i_o_r_h_a_e_l whose request was as follows:
> 
>   * Either trick (darkfic) or treat (happier, lighter themes)
>   * Fic, either gen or slash
>   * FPF: any combination between Aragorn or Faramir with Eomer or Frodo; RPF: any combination of Viggo or David with Karl or Elijah
>   * Kinks: angst, AU, any
>   * Squicks: mpreg, death, physically handicapped
> 

> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Minas Tirith, 3019 Third Age**

"You have been spending much time with my sister."

Faramir lifted his eyes from his desk to find Éomer, King of the Rohirrim, standing by his door. He had been so absorbed in the tedious work – personally checking all accounts and inventories before handing the city over to Aragorn – that he had not heard Éomer's footsteps. Straightening his back, he resisted the urge to stretch.

"Good morning," he replied with careful neutrality. Éomer seemed angry. There was an edge to his voice, a bluntness to his question, that made Faramir wary. Denethor may have not appreciated his gift as a diplomat, but Mithrandir had spent long years making sure it would not go to waste, until diplomacy had become Faramir's first instinct. Faramir rose from his chair, walked around the cluttered desk and with a gesture invited Éomer into the room, directing him to the comfortable chairs near the wide window.

Éomer took the invitation but upon hearing the door closing behind him, he glanced back with what Faramir qualified as suspicion. He could understand that, having grown up in a court himself and after all that Éowyn had told him about Meduseld.

"I have a feeling that this should be a private conversation," he said as an explanation.

Éomer pursed his lips and sat down, relaxing into the worn upholstery. Faramir lingered a few seconds more, fetching wine and glasses from a cabinet. He particularly liked this room, with its dusty atmosphere, the large windows over the west cliff, nothing obstructing the view, the walls covered not with shelves of reading books, but with cabinets of accountancy books, inventories, maps, and treatises. The high square could be for all purposes the heart of Gondor (though many would have sworn that rested lower, in the sixth level where the market was), but this room was its brain. It was an unfair advantage, receiving Éomer in such a setting, but Faramir had not invited this interview.

He sat at an angle and poured them wine. Éomer took his glass, eyed the rich ruby reflections against the bright sunlight and set it down on the arm of the chair.

"A little early to start drinking..." Éomer sneered.

Faramir lifted his eyebrow at the hostile jab. It was beneath Éomer to insult his hospitality like that.

"It is the custom of Gondor to offer food and drink to guests, expected or not. I have no food here, however, so this is all I can offer."

Éomer lifted his glass in mute salutation and gulped down the wine. Averting his eyes, Faramir sipped his, deciding it would probably be wiser to let Éomer direct the interview... for now.

"So?" Éomer asked.

Faramir watched him sucking his lower lip, catching the trace of wine left there. The sunlight made Éomer's hair shine a purer gold and his hazel eyes were almost transparent. Faramir forced himself to look into those eyes.

"I have only honourable intentions towards your sister," Faramir stated, holding Éomer's stare.

"And this is why it has taken you so long to seek my blessing that I had to come here and bestow it upon you myself," Éomer replied with undisguised sarcasm.

"I've had work to do," Faramir said, glancing at the table bristling with paperwork.

"But you found time to court her," Éomer objected.

"Then, I still tired easily. True, I had no great part in the bringing down of the Enemy, and you're entitled to scorn me for that, but I was at Death's gates. I still need periods of rest, and then I benefit greatly from Éowyn's company."

Éomer thinned his lips disapprovingly and studied Faramir for a few moments. "You have a smooth mouth."

For a heartbeat, Faramir thought Éomer meant it in a very literal way, and found himself licking his lips. Then he realized it was all but a compliment and he found he had no answer for Éomer.

"So you oppose the match?" he found it at last to say. "Disapprove of me? I am not a bad match... True, as a Steward under Aragorn's rule, I will not have the power I would in other circumstances, but there are not many better matches for your sister, except for my younger cousin from Dol-Amroth, who is, I daresay, too young for her... Unless you need her to consolidate your kingship in Edoras?"

Éomer looked taken aback. He set the empty glass on the floor and grabbed the arms of the chair with both hands. Faramir noticed the whitening knuckles.

"It is as I thought, then. You play some sort of large-scale chess and my sister is a pawn to you. Was it even your idea to court her? Or was it an order from your king? No, Aragorn is not a man for such dealings."

"Cease, Éomer!" Faramir ordered, finally understanding Éomer's motives. "I am no whore to sell myself to a woman for stately gains. And your sister does not deserve such words from you. Is it impossible to believe that a man could love such a woman? Beautiful, strong, courageous?"

"You don't sound in love," Éomer harshly retorted. They stared at each other, gauging reactions, until Faramir finally broke under Éomer's intense scrutiny.

"No, you are right. I am not in love with Éowyn, but I do love her and I think we make a good match, personally and politically."

"I can't understand that," Éomer said. "Why marry a woman you don't love?"

"And you love my cousin? I've seen you court her..."

Éomer had the decency to blush. "I am a king. I have duties."

"And I am a steward, and your sister is a shieldmaiden. We all have duties, but they can come with respect and affection."

"Agreed. So can you give those to my sister?"

"I can." The certainty in Faramir's heart came through loud and clear in his voice.

Éomer seemed to believe him. "Good," he said, sealing some sort of unspoken agreement between them. He rested back in his chair and sighed. "She has suffered plenty and I have not always been there for her."

Faramir followed his example, resting back in his chair, and although a tiny part of his heart broke as he shut the door on the silent desire he felt for Éomer, he forced himself to say, "I know. But she is strong and she will have me from now on."

"Another question, if I may..." Éomer said.

Faramir poured them another glass of wine and settled back into his chair. "Yes?"

"People talk. No. Forget I said that. What I want to know is what happens if you come to want someone else? Will you bridle your lust or will my sister suffer?"

"People talk? I have not been a rake, you know."

"I know. But you have not been perfectly celibate, either. And people..." He paused, then resumed, with some difficulty. "Look, I don't want my sister waking up one fine day to find you cavorting with the stable boy."

"Ah." Faramir swallowed the anger bubbling in his throat, and rose from his chair. "You needn't concern yourself about that. Now if you excuse me, I've work to do."

As he passed by Éomer's chair, heading for his desk, Éomer caught his wrist.

"Faramir."

Faramir looked down, swallowing back the instinctive, biting retort – except for this humiliating and fruitless conversation, this man – who could still become his law-brother – was someone he admired, beyond the desire his obvious physical attributes inspired.

"I didn't mean to offend you. I am all Éowyn has left. I have to-"

"Ensure that she is not tied for life with someone who will bring her grief," Faramir completed, making an effort to bridge the gap. "I understand. But Éomer King, you don't know me. My desires run in more than one direction, for one, and I am and have always been a man of my word. If I promise myself to your sister, I will know no other, you may be certain of that."

"Talk is easy..." Éomer cautioned.

"I know myself."

"How well?" Éomer challenged, raising an eyebrow as his grip tightened on Faramir's wrist.

Faramir stared at him, unsure of what to read in those words. In the previous weeks of their acquaintance, there were moments when he could have almost have thought that Éomer was not indifferent to him as a man, but there had never been a strong, definite current of mutual desire. Faramir would have not contemplated courting Éowyn had it been so – he had standards of decency, after all. But now, there was some unspoken challenge in Éomer's expectant visage.

Faramir yanked his wrist free. "Well enough," he replied, stepping back.

Éomer jolted up from his seat and held Faramir with one arm, fisting his hair with the other hand. He looked at Faramir for a moment, sparks of desire or anger flying from his eyes, Faramir could not tell which, and kissed him savagely. Faramir broke away and turned his head to the side, biting his lower lip to catch the drop of blood the violent kiss had drawn. Éomer did not try to kiss him again, but pressed their bodies together.

"It is as I thought," he said, his voice low and ambiguous as he pressed against Faramir's hardened length.

"Fine brother you are," Faramir retorted, trying to ignore the burgeoning tumescence Éomer pressed against him.

Éomer let him go as abruptly as he had taken him.

"This means nothing," Faramir said, moving his hands in a downward movement of dismissal.

"It means more than you'd like to admit."

"I admit I desire you. But it is your sister I love. You're goading me, trying to prove something, but you're only exposing yourself. Leave now, Éomer, and we will forget this." To avoid Éomer, Faramir looked the window, noticing how appropriately the sky had clouded.

Éomer shifted, but did not take Faramir's offer of oblivion. "No." He stepped back, and Faramir looked at him, surprised.

"What more could there be left to say? That you forbid me from wanting her? Because of this? I hope you are not such a hypocrite."

"No! No, I am not. I am convinced. I've liked you since our first meeting. But I..."

"You what?" Faramir asked, trying to conceal the edge in his voice with little success.

"I am facing the same choice as you, with Lothíriel, although I've been discreet enough not to have my forbidden escapades commented upon. I understand what you are saying. And you would understand, if I said that there would be no one better than me if you ever needed..." Éomer inhaled deeply before continuing. "Needed something different. Because I would rather die than hurt her."

"And yet you offer yourself to me. Word gets around, Éomer. I have said it and I'll say it again - my heart is Éowyn's and so will my body be once we're wedded."

"But you're not. Not yet..."

Faramir swallowed, mouth dry. There was no mistaking what Éomer offered. He was sorely tempted. It would be so easy to reach out, touch Éomer's face, draw him in. The servants had strict instructions not to disturb him while he worked, the windows could not be spied for their angle, the room was up in a tower, far away from prying ears...

"No." He knew he sounded dry, blunt, almost offensive. It was the only way he could say it and not yield.

Éomer closed the distance between them, but did not try to kiss or take hold of Faramir. "You want me and I want you. Is it better to have it done with it now, or marry women we esteem pining for what we cannot have?"

Faramir bit his lip. "This can't be."

"Once."

"Would you be glad with only 'once'?"

"Probably not. But it would make it better in some ways."

"And undoubtedly worse in many others," Faramir forced himself to reply.

"Maybe. But I'd rather have this, one time, now, than..."

"I'd feel like I'd be lying to her..."

"I would too, and I have loved her longer. But I can pay that price."

Éomer's tongue touched his upper lip as he waited for Faramir's reply. Faramir watched him in fascination, the sane voice of his conscience temporarily deafened by the screaming desire he felt at such a simple, unwitting gesture. He opened his mouth, tried to force the 'no' out but the blood rush distracted him, kept him paralyzed. Éomer took his silence for assent and kissed him, this time gentler, slipping his tongue inside Faramir's mouth, invading him with his taste. Faramir's hunger overwhelmed his sense. He took Éomer in his arms, pressed them together, moaning when Éomer's well-built body fit perfectly against him. Éomer's hands mirrored his, running up and down his back, cupping his ass as they worked together to get more contact. They broke the feverish kiss, looking around for a suitable place.

"The desk," Faramir said. The armchairs were too small and uncomfortable for two. Éomer followed him with no hesitation, and locked the door on his way. Faramir summarily cleared the desk's less populated middle, hoping that the piles of paper in the sides would not topple to the floor from their lovemaking.

Éomer came from the door and held him from behind, pressing his hardness against him, breathing hard on his neck; Faramir forgot about the paper piles. He turned, sitting on the tabletop, and welcomed Éomer between his thighs with another eager kiss. His hands dropped and tangled in Éomer's laces, haste getting in the way of efficiency, but Éomer was apparently experiencing the same difficulties. Faramir succeeded first, and pushed Éomer's garments down, freeing his erection.

He hopped down off the desk, turned Éomer so that he rested against it, and knelt before him, taking him in his hands and his mouth, letting the strong musky scent invade his nostrils and relishing the saltiness in his mouth. Above him, Éomer was flushed and panting, gripping the edge of the desk. Faramir took his fill for many long moments, working as expertly as he could for the enjoyment of both, until Éomer fisted his hair and pulled him back.

"On the table. If it's going to be only once, I want to enjoy it to the full."

Faramir complied, ridding himself of his clothes as Éomer did the same. Éomer pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him down until Faramir lay on the table, his legs wrapped around Éomer's waist, pulling him closer.

"You're every bit as handsome as I thought," Éomer said before dipping down to take a nipple in his mouth.

"Likewise," Faramir replied, barking a laugh at his inadequate reply.

Éomer's mouth travelled lower, exploring with more enthusiasm than attention to detail, his touch hard but nevertheless arousing. At first, Faramir tried to reciprocate, but as Éomer travelled lower he quit and lay back to merely enjoy. Éomer showed skill and dedication with his creative use of his mouth and hands, but soon he was climbing up the table to lie on top of Faramir, kissing him with his mouth still full of Faramir's taste.

Lost in hungry kisses, they rutted against each other, hands and hips concurring to mutual pleasure. Éomer was the first to part, his fierce pragmatism not lost even in the hour of love.

"Do you want to-?"

"No lubricant." Faramir replied, wondering what role Éomer would have reserved for himself, if this path was not closed.

"Spit?" Éomer asked.

"I'd rather not. Thighs?"

"Yours or mine?"

Faramir blinked, then laughed. "Yours first."

Éomer adjusted himself on the table with some difficulty – wide and long as Faramir's desk were, they were still two tall men surrounded by paper. Inevitably, one of Faramir's piles was victimized. Faramir did not even spare it a glance; he was much more interested in the sight of Éomer's shapely body draping itself before him, for his enjoyment. As soon as he could, he melded to Éomer's back, his body perfectly fitting Éomer's every curve. With his hand, he guided his cock, brushing it up and down the cleft of Éomer's buttocks, until Éomer pushed back, barking, "Stop the play, already."

Faramir slipped between his sweat-slicked thighs with a groan of surprise at the sheer strength of their grip. Éomer was a horse lord, after all, he figured as he pushed forth, relishing the friction, the tightness, the low rumble of approval that left Éomer's chest. Faramir buried his face in the golden mane before him, inhaling the clean scent of meadows and horses, holding on tight to Éomer's chest as he thrust again and again. Éomer had left him too close to the brink and Faramir had to stop himself a few times; finally he gave up and let the heat build in his loins, until he climax washed over him and his seed flooded Éomer's thighs.

"Let me," he panted, trying to reach around to Éomer's groin. Éomer pushed him back, pinning him on the desktop before straddling Faramir and, gazing in overt appreciation, took himself in hand and worked his length. Exhausted has he was, Faramir could still feel a twinge at the sight and tried to reach up and touch Éomer.

"You don't have to," Éomer panted. Faramir could see that he was close. There was little he could do except run his hands up from Éomer's knees to where he could reach in his thighs.

"Faramir," Éomer gasped, as his hand started moving faster.

Faramir held himself up on his elbows. "I want to see you come," he said, holding Éomer's eyes.

Éomer moaned, pumped harder as Faramir's fingers dug into his thighs, and came, splattering his seed all over Faramir. Panting, he fell forward, holding his weight in one arm.

"Sorry."

Faramir smiled, moving his fingers up and down the mess on his chest, creating pearly patterns.

"You've nothing to apologise for."

Éomer smiled, took Faramir's fingers and licked them. They kissed, this time tenderly, understanding that it marked the end of their interlude. Faramir felt the elation of the physical act turning into a shroud of sadness blanketing them.

"I should go. Aragorn wanted to meet me for lunch," Éomer said.

"Yes," Faramir agreed, letting his hands drop from Éomer's arms.

"So just this once..." Éomer said as he pulled his clothes from the floor.

"Yes," Faramir forced himself to say. "Good thing it was good," he tried to joke.

"Yes." Éomer lowered his eyes to the limp shirt in his hands. "It was better than good." He put the shirt on and started on his trousers.

"It was," Faramir confirmed, still uninterested in his clothes. It had been a mistake too, a big one. Éomer had been wrong - this had only made things worse, not better.

Éomer turned his eyes up and smiled. "So I guess this means we're friends now."

There was something contagious about that smile. Faramir smiled back and nodded. "Friends."

* * *

**Epilogue**

"It wasn't just once," Éomer said.

Faramir looked up, startled. He hadn't even realized that Éomer was in the room, although he should have expected it: he had heard the servants bustling around, welcoming him and preparing things for his stay.

"Excuse me?" he asked tiredly.

Éomer came closer and sat opposite him by the fireplace. "I said, it wasn't just once."

Faramir looked away to the flames. Strange how Ithilien, once so warm and pleasant, had become ever cold now that Éowyn was gone.

He shook his head. "Why bring that up now? Do you think I don't mourn her enough? That I need this old guilt now?"

"Faramir, she passed over a year ago. You've mourned so hard and so long that you've become a shadow of yourself. Your children worry. Your friends too."

"They have their lives ahead. They can take the reins in their hands."

"Éowyn would have hated hearing you speak like that."

"I know." Faramir stubbornly stared at the fire.

"So? Are you going to do anything about it? Or are you going to drown in self-pity?"

"The latter. Maybe a little wine will help with that."

"Ah, funny."

"Why are you here, Éomer? Go back home. I don't need you to remind me of her, or of our old sins."

"I didn't think they were sins. You kept your word and never dishonoured my sister or your wedding vows. She was a happy woman by your side and for that, more than for any other think you might have given me, you have my gratitude."

"Ah, gratitude, what a heavy burden that must be. Dragged you all the way from Meduseld to save your old flame from withering."

"Faramir, cynicism becomes you even less than self-pity."

"Your sister is not yet cold in her grave and you sit there speaking of something that should have never been? What kind of man are you, Éomer King?"

"Don't you dare imply that I didn't love or respect my sister enough. I am here for her, as well as you. Éowyn would die a second death if she saw you like this."

"So you offer me your bed and all will be well, is that it?"

"That's part of the plan, yes. You know well enough that I've never been much for subtlety. And I don't think Éowyn would have hated the thought of it. She grew up among men, she knew, knew more than you think about life. And, save for her children, you and I are the people she loved the most in the world."

Faramir took refuge in his stubborn silence. He watched how his room looked sombre and unkempt, in his image. The windows had not been opened in weeks and the air was stale. Éomer looked as robust and healthy as he had ever. The gold of his hair had given way to many whites in the exact same pattern of Éowyn's. His smile had permanently crinkled the skin around his eyes, and the Riddermark sun had left an indelible tan on his skin. Faramir looked at his own hands, weakened and pale. When had he last gone out for a walk or a ride? When had he last read a book, had a meal with his sons, taken a bath, he wondered, and cringed at the answer.

He didn't want to take what Éomer was offering, or any of those other things. It felt profoundly disloyal to live on, after Éowyn. And yet, he knew that Éomer and before him, his sons and his friends, had spoken the truth. Éowyn wouldn't have wanted this. He sighed.

"All right."

"All right, what?" Éomer immediately pressed on.

"I will take a bath, trim my beard, go down for dinner."

"A good beginning. But tomorrow morning your eldest is expecting you for a meeting with Aragorn's envoy."

"He can deal with that," Faramir replied.

"You will go."

Faramir almost smiled. He had forgotten how stubborn and argumentative Éomer could be. "Fine."

"About that other thing. We are both widows, and we have become good friends over the years. You have my highest regard and esteem."

"Éomer, we're too old-" Faramir cut.

"Not too old!" Éomer vigorously protested. "But we are too busy, live too far apart and there are family ties between us that make things even more complicated. But when I saw you sitting there, it was the first thing I could think of to say. You've never seemed helpless to me, not even when we met and you were still convalescing. But now, look at you..."

"So what are you saying? That you pity me enough for that?" Faramir retorted.

"No!" The absence of an expletive and Éomer’s relative tameness, made Faramir smile. He wondered how much self-control Éomer was exerting.

"I'm saying that our friendship runs... deeper than many others. That you can lean on me any way you want to for comfort, for company."

"It's too much right now."

"I know. I didn't mean to-"

"I know."

"Should I call for a bath?" Éomer offered after a few minutes of silence.

"Do I reek that much?"

"You do."

Against his will, a second smile came to Faramir's lips. Éowyn was gone and he smiled... but Éowyn had always loved to hear him laughing. Faramir shook off the guilt.

"I thank you for the offer. I can't take it at this moment," he said, "but..."

"I'll keep it open, then," Éomer helped.

"Thank you." Faramir looked into Éomer's eyes and knew that he would accept the invitation, sooner or later, for comfort, for friendship, for a thousand other reasons. He smiled.

 

_Finis  
October 2008_


End file.
